


Beating Human Heart

by mansikka



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bittersweet, Future, Human Castiel, M/M, Unrequited Castiel/Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-02-14 18:05:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13013247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansikka/pseuds/mansikka
Summary: Cas deserves to be happy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is not a destiel fic, not really, it's a 'Cas deserves to be happy' fic.

The freshness in the breeze, the crunch of dirt beneath his feet, the horizon dotted with a hundred twinkling lights; this is Cas’ home now. And though he does not yet have a particular base, hasn’t figured out where he’s going to try and belong, being able to breathe deep and fill his lungs in true _peace_ is more grounding than he ever imagined it would be.  

This, his life now, his _human_ life, this is his true start over. There have been so many of them in the past intricately tied with _him_ , but this one, this one is purely for himself. No more holding on to one last hope of Dean figuring things out about how he feels about him. No more wishful thinking that the whispers he used to be able to hear in Dean’s prayers meant he would finally _do_ something about the way they felt for one another. No more hoping, only to have that hope crushed over and over, having to paste on a neutral expression, pretend he doesn’t feel a single thing.

It hurts. That the one person Cas has ever fallen in love with can’t bring himself to love him back. That Dean _does_ love him back, so very much, yet isn’t able to cross that final hurdle of saying it out loud, doesn’t _want_ him enough to risk all those things he’s fearing to even _try_ to be with him. It hurts even more that Cas has waited so long, given so many chances, opened himself up to Dean in so many ways, and it’s all been for nothing.

But there’s nothing he can do about any of that now.

Cas is human now, and it hurts that he’s ended up alone all over again, it does. And it hurts even more that his human _family_ , while giving him so much in the past, can’t be his family now. But he can’t be around Dean and _wait_ any longer; a human existence means a finite amount of time, and Cas is done wasting that time on someone that refuses to love him because of whatever the latest reason is that he's using to convince himself to do _nothing_ , nothing at all, to resolve things between them.  

_Stop_ , Cas commands himself, coming to a physical stop where he's walking, and letting his head fall forward for a second, pleading with himself to stop thinking in circles.  

Cas lifts his head, takes another deep, shaking breath, acknowledges the sting of tears in his eyes while knowing he’s cried enough already to know there’s no more that will fall just yet. Perhaps later, when he’s stopped moving, when he’s found a place that he thinks he can _be_ in for at least a short time. Perhaps then he can allow himself another moment of grieving, fool himself into believing that it might be his last.

The credit cards Dean has given him in the past he’s withdrawn all the cash he can on, and Cas has a healthy cushion to at least have a few weeks to figure out what’s coming next. The cell phone he used to spend hours staring at willing Dean to answer him, to get his words out, to get in contact just because he _wanted_ to, is probably ringing out in the trash can he dumped it in before changing buses. Along with those cards, and everything else there is to remind him of his old life.

There’s a part of him that still wishes Dean might try to follow. A tendril of hope that Dean might be brave enough to care. But Cas knows, deep in his beating, human heart, that Dean can’t do either of those things. Certainly can’t give him the things he wants Dean to give him. Is it more selfish sticking around and hoping one day he can, Cas asks himself, or walking away, making _himself_ his only priority for perhaps the first time in his long, long existence? But then decides that he doesn’t care about that anymore, because he _has_ to do this. He has to do this for himself.

Should he be angry, Cas asks himself for not the first time, should he be furious at Dean’s unintentional stringing him along, keeping him around for so many years when he is useful, then discarding him the moment they get too close? No, Cas tells himself then with a slight shake of his head; Dean’s life, his upbringing, even his outlook makes things difficult. Not too difficult to change, of course, but far too difficult if he’s not even sure he wants to try.

Cas is tired of waiting for Dean to try for him, of waiting for Dean to want to try for _himself_. And whether human, angel, or that in-between existence he experienced for a few years, all of Cas’ experience involving Dean is underwritten by so much _waiting_ , and _wanting_ , that the kindest thing for them both really is to walk away.

There is no way back to being an angel. He’s cut too many ties, done too much damage to be welcomed back in any capacity. But anyway, Cas doesn’t _want_ to be an angel. He wants a human existence, full of the small things that he once observed in bewilderment, but now can’t wait to have to deal with for himself. Choosing laundry detergent, having a day when he has nothing to do and is listless for it, weighing up the choice of one more episode of his favorite show and how tired it will leave him in the morning; the simple things that he’s had glimpses of, but now will make up the essence of himself.  

There are fresh tears to shed for Dean brimming in his eyes, and Cas asks them to wait until he’s got some privacy. He can’t stop loving Dean just because he knows he has to for his own sake. He can’t stop daydreaming about the things he wants to experience with him, but knows he never can. He can’t stop the loneliness that seeps into him repeatedly, and has done since long before he made this decision to leave. But he also can’t go back to that life of constantly feeling he has to prove something, to give something, to be accepted as he is. And to give his all, over and over, no matter what it costs him, yet not ever be accepted at all.

He’s emailed Claire, said he’ll be in contact once he’s settled, and if there’s anyone from his former life he truly can’t let go of, then it is her. And he knows, deep in that beating human heart of his, that of all the people he has known, perhaps she is the one who will most understand his need to disappear. Perhaps the only one who will respect his choice and keep his new life secret, wherever he starts it, however that new life pans out.  

This time, it’s going to be different. He is not the helpless, fallen angel he was when he stumbled into that job at the Gas N Sip so long ago; Cas _knows_ he has skills he can use as a human, and how to bluff his way into and out of things without the official paperwork to do so legally—skills the _Winchesters_ have taught him well over the years.

Cas knows he should be thankful to both Sam and Dean Winchester, and he is, he truly is, in so many ways. But at the moment it is so very painful thinking of either of them, especially Dean, that he’s having to chase away thoughts of them whenever they surface, in case _missing_ them gets too loud, and in his weakness he attempts to go back.

Cas knows he’ll be okay, despite everything, in spite of how much he’s hurting, how much he desperately wishes Dean’s Impala will come speeding along the road he’s walking, with Dean leaping out and wrapping him up in his arms, apologizing for all the things he’s never said, or done. The thing is, Cas thinks, finding himself staring into the traffic for a second in case those familiar headlights do happen to appear, he doesn’t _want_ Dean’s apology. He doesn’t want anything from Dean that he can’t freely give him, and since Dean doesn’t _want_ the things that he wants—or at least, isn’t ready to try and have them, Cas has to let go of those thoughts, for his own peace of mind.   

He’s hungry, Cas realizes, and his eyes fall immediately to the familiar kind of diner he has spent so many hours in with Dean. So he deliberately walks past it, keeps walking until he finds a cafe that he likes the look of. Sits at a table with his back to the wall so he can people watch, orders food he’s never tried before, and coffee with _milk_ for once. Adds sugar. Decides he likes the flavor a whole lot more like that. Smiles at the waitress. Decides the man at the table beside his is _cute_. Wonders what love there is going to be in his future—because he _will_ know love, he is determined.  

It’s not that Dean doesn’t love him, Cas thinks to himself again with a sigh that’s more dejected and resigned than mourning for his loss. It’s that he won’t ever stop hiding it, won’t ever not dance around his words, won’t ever stop putting up a wall. And that wall is built of so many _buddy_ s, _brother_ s, and belittling statements, so many lingering looks that are so much kinder than the words coming out of his mouth. So many more unspoken things that Cas has always had the feeling Dean expected him to just _get_ , yet have also left him torn between certainty that Dean really does love him, or thinking that Dean is just happy to have a friend.

It’s better this way, anyway, Cas thinks, stretching a little, the sadness that has weighed him down for days beginning to lessen now he’s stopped moving. If Dean no longer has to worry about him, then he can focus on his constant _mission_. Perhaps one of those waitresses he loses himself in every now and then will become more of something than just the distraction Dean sometimes needs from himself, from hunting, from everything going on around him.

Cas is glad he won’t be there to see it when someone does eventually catch Dean’s eye. Knows the agony of watching Dean love someone else openly might make him a worse version of himself than any of the incarnations he has been up to now. So it really is better this way, he thinks, stepping back outside and breathing deep, swinging the small bag of clothes he bought from a thrift store up over his shoulder and resuming his walk again. Gets used to the weight of a lighter jacket than the trench coat that’s been a part of him for however many years.

By the evening, when he’s found himself a motel for the next week, observed a number of adverts in store windows, and the thing he’s most proud of, figured out the job search engine on his cell phone, Cas is feeling even better than he’d hoped he would. Dean is going to be a sting in his heart for an indefinite period, far longer than he would like him to be, Cas knows that. But that’s good, he decides; loving someone as much as he loves Dean is not something a person is supposed to get over easily. And it’s good to be able to step back and acknowledge him and Dean are something that won’t ever be; it gives him peace for the perspective, no matter how cold the bed is when he first climbs into it, or how empty the room around him looks without two Winchesters bickering over what to watch on the crappy TV, who left a towel on the bathroom floor, and who needs to go for a beer run.

It’s quiet. But it’s not too quiet, Cas realizes, reaching out to put his cell phone on to charge, then rolling over on to his back and staring up at the ceiling in the dark. And though Dean will no doubt visit him in his dreams, Cas is prepared to wake and be without him. Ready to get up in the morning to a brand new start.  

Cas snuggles down beneath the comforter and lets out a sigh. Stretches his limbs out along the sheets. Reaches out to rest a hand over his beating human heart. And closes his eyes.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably warn that there are insinuations of Cas with other people. Not that Cas has actually been with other people...

“Mornin’, Cas.”

Cas waves at his neighbor Wendy going in the opposite direction but doesn’t answer, concentrating instead on the final stretch of his ten mile run. His limbs burn with the good kind of stretch of exertion, his head is clear, and the air is fresh as he sucks it into his lungs. He spares a glance for the pond to the side of the path he’s taking through the park, smiling as a fish breaks the surface for a moment, but otherwise notices nothing else.

Satisfaction seeps into his very bones when Cas comes to a stop outside his apartment building, jogging his way up the stairs to his third floor apartment and gratefully stepping inside. In the kitchen he stretches, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, that he takes a pull on as he walks through to the small but bright lounge, dropping it down on his low oak coffee table so he can stretch out more thoroughly.

The heat of the shower spray on his neck leaves Cas humming in appreciation as he rolls his shoulders, and the sharp lemon scent of his shower gel makes him smile. His towel is soft as he dries himself off, and Cas notes when he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror that all this summer sun is giving him a tan.

Over breakfast, as usually happens, Cas finds his mind wandering. He’s been here in this town for six months now, lived in this apartment for five, and as he looks around his apartment from his two-person dining table over his overnight oats and coffee, he can’t help smiling. The apartment is clean, functional, being filled over time with little tokens of his own interests that he’s slowly discovering. It is just on the edge of the town center, so he is surrounded by everything he needs, and he has less than a ten minute walk to work in the library, where he talked himself into a job through volunteering the first couple of days he’d been in town.

Cas had felt guilty for the first month of working knowing his credentials on paper were technically not true, then even more guilty for the help he'd received getting a replacement social security number and other identification that he'd pretended to lose. But his knowledge of literature, and surprising-to-him mastery of the computer system that he’d first viewed with distrust mean Cas has become a welcome member of the small library team, making friends easily with both staff and patrons alike. Cas loves his job, loves working, loves the feeling of for once being in control of his own life.

On his rapidly filling bookcase in his lounge sits a photo frame containing a picture taken on a work night out. Cas’ eyes fall to it and that smile curves up further in memory of an evening over great dinner and fun company, and the firmer cementing of friendships.  

“Good morning, Blossom.”

Cas reaches down to the fluffy black cat purring as she weaves between his legs, picks her up and tucks her under his arm as he walks through to the kitchen. She sits patiently by the mat where her food and water dishes are kept, watching Cas’ every move as he crosses the room to her cupboard, pulling out two sachets of meat.

“Chicken, or tuna?” he asks, holding both up, and is convinced her eyes settle on the latter. Blossom is an expressive cat, he thinks, which is what drew him to her when he’d adopted her from the cat shelter a couple of months ago. Blossom might seem like an odd name for a black cat, but Cas thinks it’s oddly fitting.

As he waits for Blossom to finish her breakfast, Cas plucks a flyer from under the fridge magnet of a sunflower and double checks the time written there. Tomorrow, he and some friends are going to a local theater to watch a performance, because Melissa, one of his colleagues, has a son that is performing in the play. He's been to the theater a few times now, and loves its atmosphere, gets thoroughly engrossed in whatever is happening on the stage.

On the fridge there’s also the schedule for the local tennis club where he plays with Martin from the cafe he first stopped in when he arrived here on Tuesdays, and a timetable for the latest screenings at the multiplex on the other side of the town. In fact, Cas thinks, uncapping the pen from its clip on a pad on the kitchen counter, that noticeboard he’s been meaning to buy he should probably get around to doing given the number of flyers, menus, and other things he likes to keep together on display that are beginning to overwhelm his fridge door.

Cas adds more biscuits to Blossom’s dish and washes the bowl and mug from his own breakfast, then makes his way to his bedroom, eyeing his clothes carefully as he glances out the window at the bright, clear sky, very glad for the library’s air conditioning. He steps into dark blue jeans, debates a choice of shirt, and settles for a short-sleeved white one, looking longingly at his flip flops but knowing the library’s smart but casual policy will not include them. And with a glance at himself in the mirror and a small nod to himself, Cas snatches up his cell phone, keys, sunglasses and wallet, and leaves the apartment, stepping out into the already warm sun.

“Cas. You on for lunch?”

Cas backs up from where he’d been passing the pharmacy and peeks in at Molly, who is waving enthusiastically though apparently not moving from where she’s sat behind her counter.

“Good morning,” he smiles as he walks in, looking at the counter covered in paperwork and assuming she must be doing some kind of accounts, “and yes. My break is at one.”

“Good. I’ll meet you out front of the library like normal, okay?” she says, casting a glance over the paperwork and groaning. “I’m hoping to be done by then.”

“Don’t worry if you can’t make it.”

“I’ll make it, Cas,” Molly protests, dismissing his words, “I’ll need a glass of wine or three by lunchtime once I’ve got through all of this.”

Cas smiles but doesn’t say anything apart from wishing her luck before leaving. He’s been having lunch with Molly on Thursdays for almost as long as he’s been here, having come in to the pharmacy with an annoying headache on his second day in town, and found himself talking for hours. Molly makes an excuse for a glass of wine or three at every lunch they have together, though it’s a rare occasion when she actually does.

“Cas.”

Warm hands grab gently around his upper arms as he steps outside, and Cas looks up to an amused smile and twinkling warm brown eyes staring back at him.

“Good morning, Max,” Cas replies, ignoring his heart giving a hard thud as he steps back.

Max adjusts his postbag over his shoulder and steps back himself, eyeing him in tease. “Busy day?”

“No more than usual,” Cas smiles, mostly because it is the same conversation they have every morning they bump into one another. “And yourself?”

“Oh,” Max says with an exaggerated slump of his shoulders, “you know, the usual. Far too many people receiving bills, not enough people receiving love letters.”

“Perhaps they are using Facebook, and Instagram.”

“Talking of which,” Max says with enthusiasm, “that picture you posted of Blossom balancing on your windowsill was sweet.”

“I think she was attempting to catch a spider,” Cas smiles, telling himself he hadn’t noticed Max—or anyone else—had _liked_ the picture at all.

“She’s cute.”

“She knows she’s cute,” Cas laughs, heart beating harder again for the way Max’s eyes linger over his face and crinkle up once more.

“Well,” Max says, clearing his throat as though he knows he’s been caught _looking_ , “I’d best get going.”

“Yes,” Cas agrees, “have a good day.”

“And you, Cas,” Max smiles, and Cas is sure he can feel his eyes on him as he walks away, allows himself to smile about it for a good ten seconds, then pushes all thoughts of Max away, telling himself again he’s not ready for anything like _that_.

Max, like everyone else in town, has been so very welcoming of Cas, and it’s made his settling in to his new life so much easier than he could have ever hoped for. Max has been flirting with him for a while now, asking him out on dates at least half a dozen times, but over a drink after book club just last week Cas had sat him down, told him the briefest details he could of his _history_ , and Max has agreed to give him space. Is mostly doing that.

Cas is happy here, far happier than he thought he’d be, despite his initial confidence that things would work out for him. But Dean is still with him even after all this time; in his thoughts, in his dreams, in the shine on the hoods of passing black cars, and the tightness of plaid rolled up over muscled arms. And that love he felt for Dean is still lingering; Cas wakes still missing him, has evenings when he can’t rid his face from his mind.   

Cas hopes that Dean is happy. Tries not to think about all the _things_ he could be hunting, the apocalypses he’s probably staving off. Tells himself he’s _glad_ Dean’s never come looking for him, thinks it’s the best thing for both of them, considering he can’t have what he wants. _Did_ want.  

He doesn’t want that now. Not the wistful hope of a regular life with Dean that he’d found himself fantasizing about, nor the difficult one hunting by his side. Cas doesn’t want any of it, because the version of Dean he’s been dreaming about he’s finally accepted doesn’t truly exist. Dean’s never been free of the life he was born in to, and there’s no way for him to find his way out of that life now.

Still, Cas thinks, making his way into the library, he hopes both Dean and Sam are happy, and both doing well. When he sends emails to Claire he never asks of them, and she doesn’t tell him anything, knowing without needing to be told that Cas doesn’t want that part of his old life colliding with his new.

There is a man that comes in to the library on Friday afternoons that looks just like Dean. The first time Cas had seen him, his heart had beat so hard in fearful, mournful protest, that Melissa had led him through to the back of the library with a strong cup of coffee and a slice of chocolate cake, and made him sit down. He’d dismissed the similarity to overactive imagination until the following week, when the man had arrived again, laughably returning books including a couple by Vonnegut, doing more to cement Cas’ reminder of Dean.  

But the man is not Dean. He is Todd, a kind-hearted firefighter at their small local station, who rides a bicycle to work, and has no real interest in cars. Despises rock music, which Cas only knows from overhearing his conversation with the library’s janitor in the lobby where he’d sheltered a few weeks back when it had been raining. And is apparently a fan of cake rather than pie.  

Why Cas has held on to all these details of not-Dean Todd, he tells himself he doesn’t know. Doesn’t want to admit to the similarities or differences, or let his mind try to substitute Dean. Cas knows what attraction feels like, though doesn’t know himself enough yet to know if that _attraction_ he thinks he’s beginning to feel for Todd is intricately tied to Dean, and in truth, he doesn’t want to know. Though he does acknowledge he looks forward to Todd’s shy smiles for him every week, the way he always seeks Cas out to check out his books, and the lengthy conversation Todd always instigates and never seems to want to walk away from.

Cas hadn’t wanted to leave. Hadn’t wanted to walk away from Dean, to never again have Dean in his life. But Dean didn’t _want_ him, not enough to try, anyway, and Cas is still fighting back a wave of guilt for leaving without a word, not even telling him goodbye. But it’s better this way, Cas tells himself for he doesn’t know what number of times he’s up to, it _is_. Dean doesn't have to feel the need to look out for him anymore, and Cas doesn’t have to keep pining for the one thing he’ll never get to have.  

Cas sighs, squeezes his eyes shut tight, tells his tears they are not welcome this beautiful sunny morning, and repeats to himself that he deserves this, deserves happiness, deserves his new life.

“Morning, Cas,” Melissa calls, leaning back in the doorway where she’s making an inventory of some new books.

“Good morning, Melissa.”

“I can’t tell you how happy I am knowing you’re coming to ours tonight,” she groans, coming to lean against the doorway.

“Jake is having difficulty with history again?” Cas laughs, his mood lifting, looking forward to his usual Thursday evening at Melissa’s with her family, where he spends an hour or two after they’ve eaten helping her son Jake with his homework.

“Difficulty? More like the world’s ending,” Melissa huffs, rolling her eyes, then crosses to their small kitchen and waves the coffee jug, filling Cas’ own personal mug with a bee emblazoned on the front of it when he nods.

Cas thinks of so many times when the world really has been ending. The people he fought with so that end would not come to be. Allows a couple of seconds for his heart to pang for missing Dean, then pastes a smile on his face.

“I am sure we can resolve it, whatever it is,” he assures her, following her out into the library with his mug clutched in his hand. Listening to her plans for their butter chicken dinner, the problem with a book trolley that needs a new wheel, the flyers for the community center that are currently blocking the main desk, and the patrons who are due in that morning to pick up the books they’ve reserved.

Cas busies himself with these menial things, can smile for every one of them after a few sips of coffee, and by mid-morning is once again happy to be living his quiet life.

 


	3. Chapter 3

When Cas wakes, it doesn't even take him a matter of seconds to know that something is different. The ceiling above him is not his own, the bed beneath his back is absolutely not memory foam, and the feel of the sheets between his fingers speaks of material far coarser than that of his own comforter.

Cas lifts his head, regrets it instantly, the room giving a violent lurch and reminding him a little of the previous night. He'd drank too much, far, far too much, had known exactly the point when he should have stopped and yet had carried on drinking. Cas drops his head back into the unfamiliar pillow and closes his eyes, thankful only that it's Saturday morning and he doesn't have to work.

"You're awake then."

Cas jolts, and apparently his brain hasn't connected the different bed with the possibility of _company_. He smoothes a hand down his naked chest, shifts just enough to reassure himself he's at least wearing boxers, then cranes his head up in the direction of the voice.

"Good morning, Cas."

"Todd," Cas says, his heart skipping. His mind is cruel as well as slow this morning, morphing Todd into Dean Winchester, leaning in the doorframe of the bedroom and looking back at him in affection.

"How're you feeling?"

"I… hungover," Cas manages to blast out. He's glad only that he isn't feeling queasy; partly because despite knowing Todd's apartment a little, he can't in that minute quite place where the bathroom is.

"You should be," Todd laughs, moving closer to him, "I think you tried to drain half the bar."

Cas' eyes fall down over Todd's bare torso, the soft lounge pants covering his legs, and his bare feet, then up again, with a violently protesting beat of his heart.

"I was drunk."

"And then some," Todd replies with another laugh. "Remind me never to try outdrink you. That was inhuman the amount you were slinging back. I don't wanna meet the person who taught you how to drink."

Cas' mind wants to retort about looking in the mirror, but he scolds it before it can make the words come out. This is Todd, this is not Dean; it's not even—

"Is everything okay, Cas?"

"What do you mean?"

"Cas," Todd says softly. "You were… you were pretty upset."

 _I was?_ Cas asks himself, trying to find a source for it.

"You had us all worried," Todd adds, and now Cas is looking, he can see that worry there on his face.

"I'm sorry—"

"We care about you, Cas. All of us. If there's something you're not telling us, or something's going on for you, we care about you. You can talk to us—to me, if you want—about anything."

Cas' eyes prick with tears, and he doesn't really know why. But he nods, because he needs to give some kind of answer.

"And if…"

Cas watches Todd stumble over what he wants to say, half-expects him to cup the back of his neck like he used to watch Dean do. But Todd is not Dean. Todd is different, Todd is—

"What?" Cas asks, his stomach beginning to knot, desperately trying to remember the previous evening's events clearer.

"If you… I know you don't talk about a lot of… I know there's stuff in your history that means you're… that there's things that probably hurt to talk too much about. But I just… you don't need to shut any of us out, okay? None of us are going to judge."

Cas' head is still fuzzy. There's fragments of memory coming back to him, the sound of clinking glasses and raucous laughter that he thinks is coming from him. He remembers aching as well, though not in a physical way, more in the sense that some emotion had struck him hard in the chest. The last time he'd drunk himself quite so stupid was, in fact, _Dean's_ birthday, so very long ago now. He'd vowed the morning after that never to do it again.

"Cas—"

"I'm so sorry if I behaved inappropriately," Cas says, forcing himself to sit up.

"You didn't do anything that bad," Todd says, his smile probably supposed to reassure him. "You were just… really, really drunk."

"I—"

"Took a couple of us to drag you back here. None of us thought it would be a good idea for you to go home by yourself."

"I was that bad?"

"You were pretty upset," Todd says with a sympathetic smile.

Cas wants to ask what he was upset about. But a thought that's been just out of grasp is beginning to form into a conscious thing he's aware of. He's sleeping in Todd's bed. Taking up one side of that bed. And he's only wearing his boxers. What if—

"Did we have sex?"

Cas blurts the words out and immediately feels stupid for them, ashamed, even, that he has to ask. Todd's eyes would be comically wide were the situation not quite so tense. He clears his throat, licks his lips, and gives a curious shake of his head.

"Of course not."

"We—"

"Cas," Todd says with another gentle laugh, "I wouldn't do that to you. I wouldn't… what kind of guy would I be to take advantage of someone who was so drunk, they don't even know how they got to bed?"

Cas tries to remember how pathetically drunk he must have been, can't, and blushes furiously for it anyway.

"Cas," Todd says, reaching out and clasping him around the shoulder. "We're friends. We'll always be friends. And yeah, you're… gorgeous," he adds with a wink that flares even more blush in Cas' cheeks. "But I'm never gonna… I know you don't think about me like that. I just didn't want you to be alone."

"How did I—"

"You were sick, Cas," Todd says, screwing up his nose and already anticipating Cas' question as he gestures at his chest. "You were sick; plenty of times. I offered you a shirt, some pants, all kinds of things. You refused everything. Spread out on my bed like a starfish and demanded that I leave you alone. Good thing I've got such a comfortable couch."

Cas holds his head in his hands and groans, mortified at his own behavior. "I'm so sorry—"

"Cas," Todd laughs, squeezing his shoulder again, "you're not the first or last person to get _that_ drunk. We just didn't want you to wake up alone, be ill, not know what was happening."

"I must have drunk a lot for you to be so concerned," Cas replies, sure his words are going in circles.

"You did."

Cas tries to find the reason for it but can't remember much of anything. He desperately wants to ask, but feels stupid having to.

"Don't be surprised if you get some messages," Todd adds then, nodding to Cas' side, where he notices his cell phone on a nightstand. "I called... and sent some messages to… people. To let them know you were alright. And that you were here with me."

People? Cas thinks faintly, so bewildered by what is happening. His head chooses that moment to throb with pain again, and he sags forward with a groan.

"I'll get you some Advil," Todd tells him. "Maybe you should go back to sleep for a bit."

"Blossom," Cas says then, alarmed at the thought of his cat patrolling the apartment, indignant for one, perhaps two missed meals.

"I'm sure she'll be okay. We just thought you should come here because my place is the closest to the bar we were all drinking in. You're kind of heavy, Cas," he adds with another burst of laughter. "And since you could barely stand up, never mind walk, it made more sense to just... get you _here_."

Cas tries to work out exactly who had been there to witness his shameful drinking, then exactly where that drinking had taken place, and lets out another pathetic moan when he can't.

"I'll… do you think you can eat something?"

Cas' stomach lurches just for the thought. Todd must see the panic on his face because his own eyes grow wide and he rushes forward, throwing back the comforter and helping Cas get out of bed. He guides him through to a bathroom and runs out again, just as Cas begins to throw up.

***

Blossom is unimpressed, but she's forgiven him, even brings Cas a little comfort by following him through to the bedroom and curling up with him when the real weight of his hangover finally hits just minutes after he gets home. Cas feels wretched, comforted only by the silkiness of her fur, the steady rise and fall of her body as she sleeps next to him on a pillow with a soft snore.

Cas needs to check his phone. He's sure he's got unanswered messages, is even more certain that he's heard it buzzing with alerts, but he's so embarrassed by himself that he's not yet been able to make himself look. But he's beginning to remember the source of his drinking now, and he feels so foolish for it, that there are several seconds when Cas has the urge to pack up, leave town, start over somewhere else yet again.

They'd spoken of family. Cas has lived in this town a little over a year now, and he's _made_ himself a family amongst his group of friends. He's had his first Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's Eve, dressed up to hand out candy at the library for Halloween. Even given himself a birth date so he could celebrate a birthday, and had been showered with gifts for it.

There had been a talk of family traditions, and Cas had become stuck, lost somewhere between the memories he has of his angel family, and those he has of Dean and Sam. He'd violently missed Claire out of nowhere, and in turn all of the people associated with his old life, began a tirade on family not ending in blood, about decisions out of his hand, and about needing to leave all he knew behind him just so that he _could_ live.

Cas thinks he alluded to having a broken heart, what it felt like to have to give up on someone knowing they'd never give up anything for him. He's sure the sympathy, and care in the bar had closed in on him. Made him feel like he might drown.

Perhaps that's what he was attempting, Cas groans to himself, pinching over his eyes. Perhaps he was planning on drowning himself in bourbon, and scotch, and whatever those yellow shots he'd slung down his throat in quick succession had been. That he would resort to the tried and tested Winchester way of drinking away his pain makes Cas disappointed in himself. He knows that's not the answer to anything, knows he spent a lot of time worrying about the amounts Dean used to drink doing the same, and is even more disappointed that whenever things get difficult, his thoughts still turn to _him_.

Cas doesn't think of Dean all that much anymore, not in daylight hours, anyway. He's not looked at Todd and seen Dean for months. No longer winces at the sound of familiar music he associates with him, and can even go into a diner without being assaulted by memories of shared meals with Dean and Sam.

A diner is what he needs right now, Cas thinks, throwing back the cover and kissing Blossom's head in apology for disturbing her. Cas throws himself into a shower, turns it up a little hotter than usual, allows the heat to seep into his shoulders. And by the time he steps out feels human again. Famished and in need of greasy food.

Human, Cas thinks with a huff, smiling to himself even if there are residual lingers of his hangover. He throws on clothes, tops up Blossoms' food, grabs his wallet, keys, and phone, and heads out in search of a much overdue breakfast.

***

Dean hasn't crossed Cas' mind in months he thinks as he digs into an obscenely large plate of food, groaning in relief around a mouthful of bacon and earning himself a snort from his waitress Chloe. That Dean even cropped up in his thoughts the previous evening still hits Cas with surprise. He can think of Dean with perspective now, smile bittersweet for the times they shared together, and know he's never been happier than where he currently is.

Dean's life is not his life, Cas realizes that, can acknowledge that these days without even the slightest stab of pain. And it had taken him months of falling asleep with Dean's face the last thing he saw behind his eyes to know for certain that he'd made the best decision for both of them. He doesn't regret it, nor does he regret all the things he's done both with, and for Dean and Sam in the past. But this is his life now, Cas reminds himself, loading up his fork again and sighing around it.

Cas waves at Mrs. Miller, a regular patron of the library, when she taps on the window of the diner, and peers out on to the streets before looking up at the grey, rain-filled sky. It's cold, the kind of weather that needs several layers, a hat, scarf, and gloves, as well as his new favorite peacoat. Black; although he does admit that his eyes lingered a little longer over one that was tan.

He loves this town, Cas thinks, smiling at the long-familiar buildings, all the faces that he's come to match a name to, and nods in welcome for those that he hasn't. This is his home; more than an ethereal heaven, more than a bunker in the depths of Kansas, and more than anywhere else he's ever known.

Cas looks down at his now-empty plate, surprised that he's worked his way through such a mound of food so quickly, even if it is now mid-afternoon and he hasn't eaten in practically a full day. He pushes the plate away, downs the last of his coffee, and sits back in his seat with a contented sigh, with a final glance out the window as he retrieves his cell phone from his coat pocket.

Three missed calls. Seventeen messages. Numerous other alerts for email and various social media, but he thinks he can take his time getting to them in particular. He listens to the voicemails first, all three not leaving a message at all, which makes Cas' stomach clench with guilt for the worry he might have caused. Cas thumbs through the messages, answering each in turn, skipping over the couple that make his heart stutter, and clearing all alerts from his screen. He takes another glance out the window and decides he can't avoid the messages he's known all along would be there, but that he's purposely ignored.

Cas is not good at confrontation. And he's not good at stumbling his way through difficult conversations. But he has to try to be; people have been so understanding and patient with him since he arrived here, with not one of them demanding anything of him other than his time. Which up until now, he's been more than willing to give.

It's fear that stops him. Fear of having something that he wants, and having it reciprocated, and even more fear of it being snatched away. Though maybe that's not it at all; maybe underneath everything, it's the fear of having what he wants, and being _able_ to have it for once. Returned without question. No hesitance, half-meant gestures, or holding back.

Cas groans at himself for overthinking and forces himself once again to look at his phone.

The messages he's been avoiding are full of nothing but sweet understanding. It makes Cas so angry with himself that he's tempted to pick the phone up and hurl it across the diner. But he doesn't, instead reads each word carefully both separately and together, then hooks the phone in his hands with his thumbs poised over the screen, debating on what to write back.

Max has been more than patient with him. The flirting he'd bombarded him with initially has given way to a solid friendship, and though that's the basis for everything else that's been developing between them, he's never pushed for anything else. Not that he hasn't wanted to, of course; Cas has seen it in his eyes numerous times. And it's not as though he doesn't want him back, but it's a terrifying thought to give into all he's feeling. It's the thing that keeps him awake more than anything else these days; having something he knows could be so good within his grasp yet feeling too afraid to really try.

Cas reads the messages again. Inquiries about how he's feeling, asking if he needs anything, hoping if he gets the chance perhaps he'll call. Max might be too good for him, Cas thinks, forever waiting for him to figure out what it is he's denying himself wanting. What if he runs out of patience the very second Cas finds his words?

Cas curses himself for the selfishness of the thought. Max isn't his to demand his full attention, nor to fear that he might give up and finally turn away. It's what _he_ did, after all, when he'd grown too weary to wait for Dean to figure things out. What if he's repeating the patterns of that relationship, dooming this potential one to fail before even giving it a chance?

Cas thinks of Max. His laughter, the way he greets everyone he passes so joyfully, only showing anger for anything when he's been pushed beyond his limits. He takes groceries to those who for whatever reason can't get out while delivering his letters, produces candies out of nowhere when there is a child close to tears. He dances with wilful abandon at the town hall when there are dance classes, pulling faces and waving at Cas across the floor if they're not already dancing together. And not once has he ever had an unkind word to say about anyone.

Max is very much at the heart of this community. It's not just because he's the mailman and is forever treading the streets making up this town, speaking to everyone he sees. It's because he knows this place, he's at the heart of this place. He's kind without trying, funny without effort, patient without ever being taken advantage of—aside from, possibly, by Cas.

It makes Cas feel sick to think of it. That this kind, caring, patient man, who has been so good to him since arriving here in this town, might be being hurt by his inaction. Cas knows he needs to make more effort, needs to let go of the things that are holding him back. Perhaps there's more to these residual thoughts of _Dean_ that's the reason for his hesitance, but Cas doesn't want to be tied to a past that didn't want him, when there's a future here, possibly, that does.

Cas jumps up from his table, quickly throws on his coat, scarf, and hat, still tugging his gloves on even as he steps out the diner door.

***

"I need to tell you about Dean."

To Max's credit, his expression doesn't falter for hearing a previously unmentioned name fall from Cas' mouth. He simply nods, gestures for him to follow him through to the kitchen, hovering a hand temporarily over a bottle of wine before pouring him a glass of juice instead. Cas leans back against the counter as he's now done countless times, eyes glancing over the familiar room as he lets out a soft sigh.

"You know you can tell me anything, Cas," Max says, and Cas aches for hearing it. Swirls his thumb over the cool side of his glass as he tries to find his words.

How much can he tell him, Cas asks himself, already drawing the line at his true history; announcing he was once an angel of the lord is something he knows he'll never be able to tell another soul. But there are parts of his history he needs to share. Max must sense the importance of this conversation to Cas because he doesn't try to lead him through to the lounge to sit like he would normally do. Just stands there, passive, giving him the room he needs to speak.

"Dean was… very important to me," Cas begins to say, knowing he has to get the pitch of this just right.

"How so?"

"I loved him," Cas says without hesitation, taking a sip of his juice to remove the dryness from his throat.

"How long were you together?" Max asks. There isn't bitterness in his voice, only simple curiosity. The openness of his expression for some reason makes Cas quake, and he aches to reach out for the reassuring weight of his hand that he's grown used to feeling, but can't bring himself to yet.

"We never were," he says, and feels ridiculous for it. How can there be this huge weight of hurt for something that never even happened?

"Then, did he love you back?"

"I thought so once. More than once," Cas adds, closing his eyes. "For so long we… Dean and I had a… there was an intense… we were family to one another, in some ways, though not through choice, or blood."

"Families can be difficult," Max smiles, forever unjudging. It makes Cas ache even more for the thought of ever hurting him. Selfishly, he wants to barrel forward, forget everything in the warmth of a hug. But again, he can't.

"They can. But we are… we _were_ —I don't know what we were," Cas sighs, dropping his gaze to the floor.

"You don't have to tell me anything," Max says softly, taking a couple of paces across the room. Cas' heart beats faster for it, because he wants him even closer. He forces himself to take another sip from his glass, hoping it doesn't reveal how hard he's trembling.

"But I want to. I want to tell you… there are things I need to share if I am to… if _we_ are to—"

"Cas," Max says, even softer. "I always told you that I wouldn't push you for anything."

"No, I know," Cas agrees. "Though I think that I have to share this."

Max nods, and Cas tries to think of how he must be feeling. If he was on the receiving end of this conversation, what would he be expecting to hear? How can he get out the very things that left him so full of misery, and loneliness for so long? He doesn't want to think, doesn't want to have a reminder of how desolate he once felt. Not now, when he's here in a place, and with people that make him feel like he belongs.

"I had never known love, or want, or… many things, before I knew Dean," Cas says, trying to recapture the feeling he used to have from being in Dean's company. It makes his stomach knot to realize that currently, all he remembers is feeling _lost_. "We were… I suppose we were thrown into one another's company. It wasn't intended; there is so much of my life that has happened since then that I never imagined would happen."

"Was he good to you?" Max asks, and Cas thinks it's a strange question. He thinks about it, and decides that yes, Dean was good to him. Thought of him as family, treated him as such on numerous occasions, even if he was forever holding back on others.

"Yes," he says, nodding. "Yes, he was."

"Then. Why were you… if you say you were never together—"

"It was complicated," Cas replies, shaking his head.

"Cas," Max says with a soft smile, "don't get me wrong; I can't know, because I've never met this guy—I've never met _Dean_. But _complicated_ always seems to mean too much effort. _Complicated_ just feels to me like an excuse."

Cas thinks back over all his and Dean's unspoken words, doesn't want to push the blame for all that didn't happen solely on to Dean. He wants to say it _was_ complicated, that their lives back then were more complicated than anyone else could ever know. But he tries to view it with the perspective he's come to appreciate over all these months, and decides every word he could use to defend his and Dean's inactions now _would_ sound like nothing but an excuse.

"Do you love him now?" Max asks, and Cas closes his eyes. Not because he's hiding how he's feeling, only for the compassion in Max's words. He'll hear him, be his confidante if necessary, and Cas doesn't know how he deserves such kindness.

"No. I don't," Cas replies, and it's not an untruth. In fact, Cas feels more certain of that than he realized. "I don't, at all. It is only that he was so important… that he is the only person I have ever loved, and I… for a long time, I have found it hard to let go of that."

Max nods as though he doesn't know what to say. Cas doesn't know either; he'd thought there would be so many more words he'd have to say about Dean once he let them out. But he doesn't; he loved him once, and he lost him, and he doesn't love him now. There are no more words than that.

"I only wanted to share that with you," Cas tells Max, putting down his glass on the counter. "I only thought you should know why I have been so… cautious around you. _With_ you."

Max nods, and Cas senses hesitance. He doesn't blame him at all, but wonders what might be the words to bring him closer. Has a brief reminder of the conversation he had earlier that morning with Todd.

"I was drunk last night," Cas blurts out, monitoring Max's expression. "I was… I drank too much. I was thinking too much, and I… didn't want to think at all."

Max nods, but doesn't add anything, leaves him free to continue.

"Apparently, I got drunk enough to need to be taken home. Todd took me to his since it was closest to… but nothing happened, and I… I didn't want—"

"He called me," Max says with a soft smile. "I would have offered to pick you up, but I didn't want to presume that you'd want me to be the one taking care of you."

Cas thinks about that. He and Max have been growing closer for months. All of their friends know it; apparently enough to let Max know he was drunk, and being looked after. And Max, Cas adds, his heart giving an erratic thud, cares enough about him to not overstep boundaries, to continue not to push. No matter how long he doesn't quite give all of himself to him. Though he has given so  _much_ of himself to him, Cas thinks, with flashes of memories of the two of them together in the bedroom upstairs in Max's house, the spare clothes Max keeps in his own apartment for how often he stays over, and the way they've mapped each other out to recognize scars and blemishes on each other's skin. It's the emotional side of himself he hasn't freely given, Cas realizes, and has a desperate need to change things.

And now he remembers more of the reason he'd got so drunk. That talk of family had turned to one of relationships, and then to the inevitability that everyone was certain was him and Max. How good they looked together, and how happy they appeared in one another's company, tucking into one another's side like they were meant to fit. Cas had got scared of what that might mean, scared that he didn't know how to handle it. And even more scared that he wanted Max as badly as he'd realized last night that he did. That he  _does_ ; that he  _needs_ him.

Cas' heart skips again. "I know we haven't... _promised_ one another anything. But I hope you don't think that I… that I _would_ , with… anyone but you. I—"

"I know," Max says, cutting him off, "and I trust you. I know you, and I—"

"There is nobody else. I just needed time. And to be… cautious."

"Are you going to continue to be cautious now?" Max asks, still with that same sweet, understanding smile. "Because it's okay if you are, Cas. I can't know what you're going through—what you went through. But I know what it's like to have a broken heart. And if—"

Cas is brave. His fingers may tremble when he reaches out, but they're steady as they slide over Max's jaw, draw him closer. And Cas takes the final step he needs to close the gap between them, closing his eyes at the feel of a familiar mouth pressed against his own. There's a steady, reassuring heart beating against his chest, soothing hands sweeping in familiar arcs up his sides. Max pulls him closer, and Cas feels as though he's being tugged home. He loops his arms around Max's neck and sighs in relief against him, refusing to ever again get hung up on his past.


End file.
